


For it seems like a feather on your skin

by Illidria



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 21:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illidria/pseuds/Illidria
Summary: They were not perceived as soft by most, were not bothered by it either. But at times, more often the more of it passed, people saw. Though what they wanted to think. And yet, these people make Scar think, about gentleness and softness, about kindness and honesty. - A plotless one-shot into a relaitionship that plagues my mind





	For it seems like a feather on your skin

**Author's Note:**

> This one is...senseless.
> 
> But I hope you enjoy it anyways ;)

When people do witness them, they are always surprised by the softness.

Maybe are too caught up in wanting their prejudices and impressions confirmed, not able to see the truth for what it is. Many seeming surprised when their hands softly touch, their lips meet in a chaste kiss. Probably thinking them incapable of such.

Some, from both their people, were negatively surprised, making what they thought of _them_ known loudly.

But most, and Scar was glad for that, not nearly as indifferent as he would’ve been years ago, were simply happy for them. Of course, they weren’t particularly public, did not try to be, but news spread fast, gossip enjoyed by all people, whether they be amestrian or ishvalan. And the more people knew, the more public he dared to be with her, even when that wasn’t very much compared to all others.

Heard once or twice, from ill-willing tongues, that they were only putting up an act when outside of his little home, or any other place of privacy they could find. That Olivier and he were only acting, playing a game, that this were not their true faces.

Scar feeling little need to dispute those with these clearly wrong opinions, as it only mattered that they knew them to be wrong.

And as such he instead focused on this oh-so-surprising softness he got to witness so often, enjoying it just as much as their banter, their brutal sparring-sessions. Over many years Scar had slowly fallen for her, piece by piece, Olivier sneaking through the defences around his soul much more slyly than when she broke through them during their numerous battles.

Had taken the time to learn him and his mannerisms, to understand them. To understand him.

And even though he’d not realised his feelings for her with a start, having been aware early on that he was attracted to her. Not much later having felt that this attraction was changing, deepening, to a kind of longing he’d never felt before. Only then he’d noticed that he was already hip-deep in the flood of his feelings, a current too strong for him to escape.

During battle he’d stood there, enduring her relentless teasing, trapped in the current and her on the side of it, looking on. Had not expected her to jump right in, to drown with him.

And soon after, when the first passion subsided, her vacation-days up. When she’d left for the cold North again, the bed beside him empty, he’d realised how soft they were with one another.

Of course, they were pushing and shoving, bantering and laughing and strong-willed. But their gentleness, their patience and the feather-light touches in-between, Scar only fully realized when all hesitation that could’ve come with it was already beaten, had fled their union.

And as such, when she returned after many months and even more letters, he truly noticed it for the first time.

How Olivier greeted his cats, only one moving with him from camp to camp, all others found homes for. Offering them her hand to sniff, holding still when they lifted themselves up with a paw on her shoulder to inspect further. The way she lifted the kittens if he had some, supporting their little bodies, attentive to their body language.

He’d been at Briggs before coming back to his homeland, for many months even. Knew of the cats there, big and furry measures of pest control, revered and beloved by the Walls soldiers. Never had he seen her interact with them, Olivier’s name only once falling in such a context, when Miles informed him that his habit of picking up strays was slowly getting out of hand.

Here, in his desert home, or in the makeshift places he used to live in, nothing was too be seen of the commander trying to keep her Fort from being overrun by felines. Sure, she made jokes when he brought in more of the animals, rolled her eyes when he carried a new basket with him, but then she’d come and help, talk calmly, or if needed keep her distance.

And as he noticed her gentleness with his cats, it became even more apparent to Scar how gentle she was with him.

The way she padded barefoot through wherever he lived in the morning, legs always blessedly bare, waking him with a soft touch instead of banging on doors, or walls. Knowing what that could do to someone that was woken by another kind of banging before, having experienced it herself.

How she held him from behind when he woke from a nightmare, not caring that he turned his back to her, ashamed, Olivier only caring about holding him tight and easing the pain. Her hand soothingly sliding up and down his skin where it came to rest, her breath at his neck steady, lulling him back to sleep.

Just lounging about when she visited him, or when he came to visit her. Curling up somewhere, with a book or a report or sometimes nothing, just dozing off in the sun, or on a soft place. The way she spoke when they were alone, not without bite of course, but also sometimes utterly silent. The fact that they could probably go for days without exchanging a word and yet understanding everything exhilarating.

And as he noticed her softness, Scar noticed his own, too.

Not to say that he wasn’t aware that he could be gentle and soft, he liked to think that he knew himself pretty well after all. No, it was rather the fact that he could not remember being so affectionate with somebody, maybe except for Mei, and that was a completely different kind of case.

As such, he took note when he greeted Olivier at the train station by taking a part of her luggage, their hands softly brushing the others. Was completely aware of how he prepared things, be it his living space or food, or anything else.

For the first time in years noted how starved of contact he was when simply sleeping next to her, always feeling the mighty need to establish skin-contact. Something she seemed to feel, always close, no matter how strong the Ishvalan sun burned from the sky.

And as such their days together became an everchanging sequence of laughter and sleep and banter and sheer affection, more and more people knowing, though only few seeing anything that was counted towards “confirming” it.

Scar thinking about the fact that he hadn’t been soft when the first of his countrymen had walked up to him, asking why he dirtied their land with an amestrian whore. Or when Olivier’s father had suddenly stood in front of his door, Olivier herself at Briggs, like always during the height of winter. Demanding to know what his intentions were, what he promised himself from his relationship with Olivier.

He’d been honest then, and indignant, and not gentle or considerate.

Was fully aware that softness and honesty weren’t two sides of the same coin that precluded the other but could go hand in hand. Though they did not always have to.

Instead checked the food in the tajine, made sure that he’d put all the papers away that needed to be handed over come morning, made sure that the aloe-gel he got from the herbalist was within easy reach, Olivier’s skin burning at least once during her stay almost inevitable.

Looked around in his house, their house, for one last time, not willing to count the years he was now thinking in them and theirs, not mines or yours. Instead let the happiness that she was coming grip him once more, relaxation flowing through him, loosening sore muscles.

Even though he stayed in one place now, had a house that would hopefully for many years still be theirs, the work had not eased up on him. On Olivier neither, even though she’d stepped back from her post at Briggs, had been promoted to work in Central, was diplomatic associate to none other than the Fuhrer. And yet, their weeks together had turned to months, their time apart hopefully soon turning only into days.

Felt peace wash over him when he heard a key being turned in the lock, was there to take her bags, put them to the side, to hug her and rest their foreheads together.

To just breath.

And with a smile he watched as she first put her luggage into the bedroom, coming out of it with boots and pants kicked off, the uniform jacket thrown over the back of his floor sofa, _his_ white kameez hanging long and loose on her body.

Watched as she greeted cats while walking past, looked into the box next to the sofa, where his newest litter of to be hand-raised kittens slept peacefully, night having fallen long ago. Her smile beautiful to him, open, a twinkle in her eyes.

“I though we agreed on fewer cats?”

Was before him after several more moments, the tips of their noses almost touching, his hands on her back and hers on his chest.

“We also agreed on you not stealing my clothes anymore.”

Closed his eyes when she pressed a kiss to his lips, felt his heart skip a beat.

“Touché.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. The goal of it is to make commenting easier for readers and to increase the feedback writers get. As such, I invite you to leave:
> 
> _Short comments_   
>  _Long comments_   
>  _Questions_   
>  _Constructive criticism_   
>  _Reader-reader interaction_   
>  _extra-kudos as <3_
> 
> I cherish all comments, weather they be long or short, even only one word makes me squeal with happiness after all. And if you’re seeing this fic ten years after I published it, don’t worry: Old or new, I’ll still love what you left me to read <3 I answer to all comment btw, though it sometimes takes me a day or two. Should you not want me to answer, just write _whisper_ in front of it.  
>  I thank you for reading this fic of mine through to the end. As I said, I appreciate all comments and kudos and should you want to get into direct contact with me [this is my tumblr](http://illidria.tumblr.com/). There you can get into discussions with me, or even send in wish-fics.  
> Happy reading and thank you <3


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